30 Kisses
by Syncopated Heartbeat
Summary: 30 chapters, 30 unrelated oneshots, 30 kisses. A LiveJournal entry. Warning: It's gonna be fluffy people.
1. Look Over Here

**Look Over Here**

"Scaramouche, look over here!" he cried excitedly, "I have something to show you!"

"What is it now?" I groaned, not even bothering to sit up on my bed to look at him. I loved Galileo, I really did, but sometimes –alright a lot of the time- he was like a little kid. He got excited over the littlest things, a colorful rock, a butterfly, even an old-fashioned pencil! It was endearing, the way his brown eyes sparkled and his smile spread across his whole face, but it was also…irritating. To his disappointment, colorful rocks just didn't get a rise out of me. It had got even worse though since we started living at the Heartbreak Hotel. I mean, he was finding things like guitar picks and magazine clippings now! Jaysus, help me.

"Really Scaramouche, you should see this!" he insisted.

"Figgy, remember that story about the boy who cried Online-Predator?" I asked.

"Of course," he answered, "But what does that…"

"He's you," I interrupted, sitting up, "Except instead of 'Online-Predator', you cry 'shiny object'! Please Galileo, I'm tired and I'm trying to rest. Is this really that important?" I arched my eyebrows at him.

"Well…no…" he answered quietly, hanging his head, "I…I just thought you would maybe like to see this?" He looked positively crushed. I couldn't help but feel guilty.

"Oh, get over here," I sighed, "What's your latest discovery?"

"It's not important, remember? I don't want to bother you," he answered back, sounding injured.

"Stop being silly…of course it won't bother me," I replied, the corners of my mouth turning up a little, "Now come here and show me!"

"You really want to see?" his face lit up hopefully.

"Mmhmm," I moved over a little to make room for him on my bed, "Come sit."

He clambered on, clutching a small object, "This, I think, used to be called a Switch Army Knife!" He proceeded to thrust the small red knife towards me.

"Lovely," I nodded. He then babbled a bunch of mumbo-jumbo nonsense about its uses in history, and even demonstrated some of them, which I only half-paid attention to.

"You try now!" he declared finally.

I wrinkled my nose.

"Scaramouche," it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at me, "Try it." He grabbed hold of my right hand, placed the knife in it, and closed my fingers around it tightly.

"Ouch!" I cried, dropping it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brows knitted in concern.

I sucked my index finger, "I cut my finger, is all. Nothing to worry about."

After a pause, he ventured, "Can I have a look?"

I showed him my bleeding finger…it was a superficial cut though. It looked worse than it was. Nonetheless, Galileo, also known as Braveheart, shuddered at the sight of the blood.

He held my hand gingerly, trying to avoid touching the cut finger, "I think people used to have a sort of ritual about these sorts of things."

"Did they now?" I asked.

He nodded, now looking straight into my eyes instead of at my hand, "They used to kiss them…to make the booboo better? Is that right?"

"Sounds right to me," I shrugged with a smile.

He leaned forward bashfully and planted a soft kiss on my lips. He pulled back, but only a few inches, staying close enough so that the ends of his overgrown bangs were brushing against my forehead.

"Is the booboo better?"

"Much better," I answered, for once not bothering to correct him.


	2. News  Letter

**News; Letter**

I stared at my reflection in the mirror for what seemed like a century. I studied the girl in the mirror carefully, taking in every inch of her, from the little freckles on her arms to her slightly shorter than average legs. I bit down on my lower lip as I took a deep breath, filling up my lungs to their greatest capacity. As I did so, I watched the stomach in the mirror puff all the way out. I exhaled quickly, in one short breath, allowing the stomach to deflate, and shook my head.

"Jaysus," I sighed, sitting down on the hand-carved chair in my room. It had been a gift from Galileo, on my last birthday. Apparently, it was made in the 17th-century, a real antique, he'd announced proudly. I ran my fingers along the flowers and vines etched into the dark wood. Pretty, aren't they, he'd smiled, gesturing towards the little flowers. Looking embarrassed, he'd added, they made me think of you.

"Oh Galileo…" I murmured, closing my eyes. I leaned back in the chair with my hands on my stomach. I just stayed like that for a while, feeling it expand and contract in time with my breathing.

"Galileo, Galileo, my Galileo Figaro," I sang quietly to myself. I stood up to have another look in the mirror. I stopped myself though, and headed towards my bed instead. After snatching my pillow from it, I made my way to the mirror again. I looked at my reflection, this time from profile. With one hand, I stretched out the front of my red shirt, allowing my other hand to stuff the pillow in it. I adjusted the pillow to look exactly the way I wanted and then re-examined my reflection.

"'Ello sweetheart," I said half-heartedly, looking down at the pillow-belly.

"Scaramouche?"

I jumped, my eyes growing huge.

When I looked to see who had called me, I saw Galileo, his head poked into my doorway, looking very confused, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I answered quickly.

"Really?" he cocked his head, approaching me, "So what's this then?" He poked the pillow-belly.

"This?" I feigned ignorance.

When I realized he wasn't buying it, I pulled the pillow out from under my shirt, silently cursing the white fluffy object, and answered, "Just a pillow….nothing to get excited about."

"Of course."

He studied my face, confusion and curiosity plastered all over his own. I didn't say a word, just looked right back at him with a stony expression. Sometimes, with Galileo, all you had to do was out-stare him to get him to leave you alone. After a few seconds of looking silently into his big brown eyes though, I knew I wouldn't be let off the hook so easily this time.

"Baby, you'd better sit down," I said quietly.

"What's going on, Scaramouche?" he frowned.

"I have," I paused to search for the right word, "news for you."

"News?" he asked, sitting down on my bed, looking very bewildered.

I nodded, joining him.

"Good news or bad news?"

"Depends on how you look at it, I guess."

"Well what do you think?"

"I'm not sure yet. It's interesting news though, that's for sure."

"You're really narrowing the possibilities down, aren't you?" he said, for the first time in his life, properly employing sarcasm.

I blew my bangs out of my eyes, "You're not making this easy; I hope you know that"

Silence for a few minutes. Funny isn't it, how hard it could be to share this with him. I'd never had trouble telling him things before. Usually, my thoughts seemed to come out before I could even stop them, as though they had a will of their own.

"Are you going to tell me?" he asked cautiously.

"Just…give me a minute, okay?"

"Okay."

I took a deep breath and began, "I'm not sure how to say this and I probably sound like a first-class moron, but I've got to tell you somehow, right?"

"Right," he nodded.

"Well, you're my baby, and you always will be," I paused, "But pretty soon, I'm going to be calling someone else 'baby' too."

"I knew it!" he cried, standing up.

"You did?"

"Well of course…I should have mentioned it when I noticed. How could I have been so stupid? It was so obvious?"

"It was?"

Personally, I didn't think so. I mean, I'd hardly been sick, and my stomach was just barely starting to show. Evidently though, Galileo was of a different impression.

"Yes! Scaramouche, why didn't you tell me earlier?" he turned to look at me, his expression a little angrier than I'd have hoped.

"I don't know…I guess I wasn't sure until now. Galileo, you know, if you're that angry about it, we can have it 'fixed'. I don't want to, but if it means that much to you, well I could consider it…" I stared at him, now feeling quite baffled.

"What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?"

"Well…you and Big Macca are, well, you know," he cleared his throat.

I just looked at him. What in the name of Beelzebub was he saying?

"You and Big Macca, you're," he made the same weird throat-clearing sound. When I still didn't say a word, he cried, "Oh come on, Scaramouche! You know what I mean!"

"No," I said slowly, "I don't know what you mean, because I don't speak grunt. Now try again, in English, please."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "You and Big Macca are…together."

"What? No! Him?" I cried, "Oh Galileo, no…just…no." I shuddered.

He sat down next to me again, "So then what _were_ you talking about?"

Okay, new approach this time.

I took his hand and placed it on my stomach, "You can't always feel it, but if you really pay attention…"

"Oh…I see," he nodded understandingly.

"You do?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

He nodded, and then said the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

"Scaramouche," he announced proudly, "You're getting tubby!"

"What?"

"You have been eating a lot these days…"

"Galileo, you're an idiot."

"That's not it either?"

"No!"

"Oh," he said, blushing furiously.

"'Oh' is right," I crossed my arms.

"So…what is it then?" he asked, bewilderedly.

Apparently, Galileo couldn't even take the most evident of hints. I'd have to go about this in a way even a 5-year-old could comprehend.

Taking his face in my hands, I said, "You, me, baby. Together."

"No!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Galileo, I think I know," I snapped.

"Oh," he said quietly. Then again, "Oh!"

He then pointed at my stomach, then at himself, repeatedly, and looked up at me, "Mini-Galileo?"

"Hopefully not," I grinned at him.

"Hopefully not a Mini-Scaramouche either," he smiled back.

After a silence, I asked, "Was it good news or bad news then?"

"Great news," he replied, wrapping his arms around me.

"That's good to hear," I buried my head in his chest.

I was relieved at his reaction, but there was one thing still bothering me.

"Galileo," I looked up at him.

"Mmm?" he answered.

"Will you still love me when I'm fat?" I asked.

For an answer, he gave me a kiss, sweet and soft, then asked, "What do you think?"


	3. Jolt

Hey you all,

Just wanted to add an Author's Note: In case you don't know, in the Canadian version of WWRY, Meat's name is Oz. Also, Galileo isn't nick-named Gazza Fizza. Instead, Scaramouche calls him Figgy. That's how I saw the show, and that's how I write it...I can't get used to the other way.

Oh, and also, just in case, this goes for the whole story: I do **NOT** own WWRY...I only like to wish I do.

Reviews would be lovely.

**

* * *

Jolt**

"Oh, and Galileo, could you keep it down a little? I have a terrible headache, so it would be great if you didn't make too much noise," Scaramouche added after having asked me if I wouldn't mind doing the laundry and washing the dishes too, maybe.

"Of course," I answered, picking up the basket of dirty clothes she'd laid at my feet a few minutes earlier.

"Baby, you're amazing," she planted a kiss on my cheek, "Now I'm going to lie down for a little, okay?"

I nodded, and she winked at me. I couldn't help but smile what I knew was a big dopey grin as she walked off towards her room. There was something about Scaramouche…every time she was around, I got this weird feeling and I couldn't get this stupid look off my face. I knew I loved her, but this…this was something different, something special. Pure, untainted, unbridled love, Oz had diagnosed my situation. Then, as an after-thought, as she twirled a thick blond dreadlock around her index finger, she'd added sadly, hard to find, and even harder to hold onto.

"Galileo," Big Macca's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Mmm?" I looked at him.

"We have to talk," he said secretively (even though we were alone in the lobby), "Man to man."

"Alright," I frowned. I wondered what this could be about. We hadn't had a serious talk in ages, not since the days when Globalsoft loyalists were still roaming around, trying to brainwash everyone again. I sincerely hoped it wasn't anything like that though…

"Just step into my office and we'll begin," he said.

"Office?"

"Yes, office."

"Since when do _you_ have an office?"

"Since I made myself one," he announced proudly. With that, he pulled away a floral curtain near us, revealing a very small-sectioned off area of the lobby. It was so small, in fact, that I could hardly believe that he had been able to cram the two chairs, desk and miniature filing cabinet in there. I was almost sure that in other times, this "office" may have been a closet.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"It's…err…interesting," I said, sitting down on one of the rusted chairs.

"Glad you like it," he grinned, closing the curtain behind him as he sat down on the other chair.

"Now then, Galileo, there's a very important matter we have to discuss," he said, suddenly looking very serious.

"There is?" I asked.

He nodded, "Your relationship with Scaramouche."

"What about it?" I furled my brow. As far as I knew, things between me and her were going great. We didn't fight nearly as much as we used to, she hadn't thrown anything at me in days, and as far as the romance aspect of our relationship went… let's just say I was a happy camper.

"There's a word for men in relationships like you are."

"A word?"

"You, Galileo Figaro, are whipped," he declared.

"Whipped?" I arched my eyebrows at him. Wow…this guy had a lot to learn about my relationship with Scaramouche. If I'd tried once, I'd tried a thousand times, but Scaramouche simply refused to do anything like that. She just wasn't into that leather-and-whips brand of kinky fun, in her own words.

"Yes, whipped. You see, some men are 'soft'. Whatever their usually loud and bossy chick demands of them, they do. No matter how ridiculous, demeaning, or downright stupid their request is, they do it, no questions asked. Then, as means of compensation, these men receive silly pet-names, sweet smiles and kisses. These aforementioned 'soft' men are sacrificing their pride, their freedom and their manhood for their chicks. Believe you me Galileo, being whipped is by no means a compliment…as a matter of fact, it's almost as bad as being," he paused to look around furtively, almost as if to make sure nobody was listening to hear this horrible word (as if anybody else could even fit in the room), and then whispered, "a pansy."

"No, I'm not like that! Big Macca…that's just…no…not me!" I cried, and shook my head in disgust, "Never!"

"Galileo! Why are you being so loud? Didn't I ask you to try and keep it down?" Scaramouche's voice called out to me.

"Sorry," I called back, "I'll be quieter."

"Thank you, baby," she called back.

"Whipped," Big Macca announced flatly.

"Oh God, you're right," I groaned.

"There, there," he patted my shoulder, "This can all be fixed. It's very simple actually."

"It can?" my face brightened.

"Of course, all you have to do is reinstate yourself as the leader of your relationship," he said matter-of-factly, and then proceeded to explain to me how exactly I should go about this.

When I went to confront Scaramouche that night, I felt amazing. It was like I had a jolt of manly energy surging through my veins. I believed that I could take on the world, which was great, because all I had to take on was Scaramouche. I could do that. I could _definitely_ do that. After all, she was my chick, as Big Macca had reminded me.

I burst into her room, only to find her lying down on her bed, already wearing her little red negligee, leafing through a magazine. She didn't even bother looking up at me.

"Babe, we have to talk," I announced, trying out some of Big Macca's suggested manly vocabulary.

"Do we?" she asked distractedly.

"Yes, we do," I answered, trying –and failing- to keep her nonchalance from deflating my confidence. In an attempt to stay strong, I crossed my arms and even scowled.

"What about?" she asked, finally looking up at me, her eyebrows raised.

"Us," I responded.

"Mmm…us…" she nodded seriously, then sat up, "Well why don't you come here, and we'll talk about us?"

I sat down, facing her, "Scaramouche, I have a very important question to ask you."

"Shoot," she nodded.

"Am I," I paused, "Whipped?"

"Oh dear," she sighed, "I knew this would be coming…"

"I am, aren't I?" I asked.

"Galileo, look," she crossed her legs, Indian-style, "Some people are just more assertive than others. I'm one of those. Lucky for me, I've got a guy like you in my life, you being a nice guy…which is a good thing, honey." She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

I wasn't buying it, not one bit…okay maybe a little bit. I had to resist though! Big Macca had warned me about this!

"Being a nice guy is the worst thing," I protested, "It means being weak, submissive, and…unmanly. Men are supposed to be strong, independent, forceful, and…manly!"

She snorted, "Who told you that?"

"That's not the point," I replied huffily, "Listen to me, Scaramouche: you're my chick, my girl, my baby. I shouldn't be taking orders from you! It's unnatural, demeaning and wrong! I'm a man! Don't you see that?"

"What are you saying? Since I'm a girl, you can't take orders from me, because it's 'wrong', but what happens if you order me around?" she folded her arms across her chest.

"Then that's okay," I replied.

"Galileo, who have you been taking advice from?" she frowned.

"If you must know," I responded, "Big Macca."  
"Jaysus Christ!" she cried, "Of all the people…you went and got advice from Big Macca, the man who hasn't gotten any in, oh, I don't know…15 years!"

I blushed, not knowing how to answer to that.

"Galileo Figaro, what were you thinking?" she shook her head, then looked me straight in the eye, "Baby listen up, you aren't bossy; I am. Deal with it. It's just the way we are. It doesn't make you a bad person because you don't order me around. It means that not only do you love me, but, lucky me, you respect me too, and frankly that's sexy. If Big Macca thinks that just because a girl tells a guy to do something that the guy should walk out of the relationship, then it would explain his lack of sexual activity. You are a nice guy, and you're amazing. I wouldn't change you for any tough guy in the world! Okay?"

When I didn't answer, she tried again, "Okay?"

"No, not okay," I shook my head, "You listen now, Scaramouche! Maybe I am a nice guy, and that's okay, but Big Macca was right about one thing: something in our relationship is wrong. You're slightly on the domineering side, and I'm a bit of a pushover, I'll admit it, but you said something earlier Scaramouche, and it made me realize something: I respect you, but I, honestly, don't think you respect me. Being bossy is one thing and then bordering on dictatorial is another. Maybe I don't have to be forceful and commanding, but that doesn't mean that you have the right to take advantage of it. Being whipped isn't only about being a man; it's about not being appreciated too. Things can't go on they way they are now!"

She sat quietly for a minute, looking away from me.

"What a shocker!" I gasped in mock surprise, "For the first time in your life, you have no answer."

"Is that what you think?" she asked feebly after a few seconds.

I nodded.

"Oh…Figgy, you're right," she shook her head, "I do take you for granted, and I shouldn't. Don't think it means I have no respect for you though…I just…don't know how to show it. It sounds stupid, but there you have it. I'm sorry, I really am. I guess all I can say is that I'll try to act better."

Okay, now _that_ was a side of Scaramouche I'd never seen before. It bothered me; she wasn't supposed to look like that…so sad, and defeated.

Not being used to this, I awkwardly gave her a hug, and tilted her chin up to look at me. I said the only thing I could think of, even though I wasn't quite sure it was the right thing, "Don't worry about it, babe. I love you just the way you are. It's just that it would be…nice if you didn't order me around so much, that's all."

"Yeah?" she asked, brightening up.

"Yeah," I nodded. This was a change: _I_ was comforting _her_.

"You know though, Galileo, maybe we should try to sort of, I don't know, balance out the bossiness a little bit," she suggested, the usual mischievous glint back in her eye, "At least for a little while."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well what about if, for tonight, you're the big boss?" she grinned, "For once, I'll listen to you, type of thing."

"Okay," I nodded, "I'm liking the sound of this."

"Alright then," she pulled away, and pretended to bow in worship, "I'm all yours, master. Your wish is my command."

"Any wish?"

"It would be boring otherwise."

"Well…let me explain first, see when Big Macca told me I was whipped, I didn't exactly think of whipped the way he was thinking of it," I began.

"You weren't?" she looked up at me.

"No, I was thinking more," I cleared my throat, "Literally, and I was thinking, if…"

"No, never, no way, no how," she interrupted, shaking her head indignantly.

"Scaramouche, didn't you say 'any wish'?" I cocked my head.

"Yeah, any wish but that!" she frowned, "Galileo, you know I'm not into that whole leather-and-whips brand of kinky fun." (Ha, see, she does say that.)

"Then what's the point of this whole Master Galileo thing?" I asked.

She sighed, "You're right. But don't think we're going to make a habit of this. Tonight _only_."

"Great," I grinned, pulling her close to me and giving her a long kiss, "Now you know what we need, babe."

She sighed and got off the bed, heading towards her dresser. As she rummaged through one of the drawers, she paused to look at me and grinned, "You know, I might be able to get used to a more forceful Galileo…"

"You think?"

"Oh yeah," she winked at me.


	4. Our Distance and that Person

Hey you all,

Mmm...I'm really sorry if this isn't great...I found it a pretty hard chapter to write...and I didn't completely understand the theme (sweatdrop). I tried though... lol

Reviews would be lovely.

xxx

* * *

**Our Distance and That Person**

I watched her chattering away happily with Oz in the dining hall. Her eyes were bright, and she was smiling from ear to ear as she listened intently to whatever Oz was saying. She took a sip from her drink, which I was willing to bet was a screwdriver, her favorite (at least I still knew that much about her), and then continued talking.

It felt like it had been ages since we'd had a talk like that. It seemed like all we'd done recently was fight. Arguments between us had never exactly been scarce, but things were getting ridiculous. She'd get upset over the silliest things: a spilled drink, tripping over a stair, my telling her she should wear a different top…and I knew I wasn't much better. The other day, she'd asked me to get something for her, and I don't even know why, but I started yelling at her…and then she started yelling too. We had started out throwing catty remarks at each other, but then we started throwing other things…bottles, pillows, tissues boxes. Oz had finally put a stop to it when an ashtray only missed my head by a couple of inches.

"You are such a jerk!" she shrieked.

"Go to the Seven Seas," I countered.

"You're a pig, an arrogant, egotistical, chauvinistic pig," she crossed her arms.

"Big deal, coming from a haughty, spoiled princess," I shot back, "Oh no, wait, I forgot, ex-princess, because you decided that your perfect life was boring. Then, you decided that you wanted to be a bad-ass rebel chick, and look where you are now! You're stuck with me, an 'arrogant, egotistical, chauvinistic pig' you can't stand! You think you would've been better off sticking to your cushy life, eh Sally J?"

"You know what Galileo? You're just a big-headed asshole! You should just go jerk off in a corner or something," she screamed, throwing the famous ashtray.

That was when Oz decided to step between us.

"Hey, relax!" she cried, then put a hand on Scaramouche's shoulder, "Sweetheart, we have to talk, and you, Figgy, you might want to go talk to Big Macca or something."

"Don't worry, I will," I turned on heel and walked away.

It had been three days since then, and Scaramouche and I still hadn't said a word to each other. I hated this not talking to her business. I wasn't used to it; it just wasn't natural. We'd fought countless times, but nothing ever like this. We always used to keep the fight going. There were always snide remarks flying back and forth, remarks that were funnier than they were hurtful…at least, I thought so. This was completely different though, and it was so much worse. We'd be sitting just inches away from each other, but it felt like we were eons apart. She seemed so far away from me… It was like she was standing on the edge of the horizon, and every time I tried to take a step closer, she'd move further and further away. For the first time, I felt like maybe she might actually hate me.

I sighed letting myself fall back into one of the old red suede chairs in the lobby. I couldn't let things keep going this way. I missed her. I ran a hand through my hair.

"Scaramouche, what is going on with us?" I sighed.

"I don't know…you tell me, oh All-Knowing Dreamer," her voice answered.

I looked up to find Scaramouche sitting in the chair across from me, her legs crossed and a frown on her face. At least she was there though…and those were the first words she's said to me since the fight. I had to say something, before she yelled or got angry or just walked away...

I took a deep breath and began, "Scaramouche, I…I don't know how to say this, but…"

"Save it, Galileo; I know what you're going to say," she cut me off, "And I feel the same way."

"You do?" I asked in surprise.

She nodded, "I guess I've always known I felt this way. I mean, we're always fighting…the only time we get along is in the bedroom, and even then it doesn't always work out. We're too different…or maybe too alike. I don't know Galileo, but right now it seems like it's the only way to go."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"You know what I'm talking about," she answered seriously.

"No," I shook my head, "I don't."

She gave me this look that had a challenge written all over it, like, "Figgy, are you going to keep playing dumb forever?" I wasn't playing though, and suddenly I felt frustrated with her for being so…mysterious.

"Do you always have to be so vague? Can't you ever just come right out and say something directly?" I snapped.

"Do you always have to be so stupid?" she shot back, "I mean, come on Galileo! You're not a little kid; stop acting like one! Unless you have some kind of mental problem that I don't know about, and that Globalsoft didn't get rid of you for when you were a kid, you can't possibly be as thick as you act!"

"Bitch."

"Oh, is that what you think? Because you could have fooled me! Every time we fight, you come back, 'Oh Scaramouche, I'm sorry! Can't we be nice? Let's go have some crazy sex, because that's how I like you best, naked and beneath me!' Jaysus, you're like a clingy little leech! It's like you can't live without me. Oh yeah, you can't! You wouldn't have even fulfilled your own godforsaken destiny if I hadn't pushed you to toughen up and act like a man for once!" she screamed.

"Really? Because it seems like you're the one who can't survive without me! Everything you need, 'Baby, I need a favor…do you mind?' Then, it's, 'Thank you, honey, what would I do without you?' Don't forget, Scaramouche, without me, you'd have been nothing! You would have never found out about the Bohemians, never would have come here, never helped to free the world! You'd either have had your brain sucked out by Globalsoft, or your Daddy would have come to rescue his precious daughter and you'd be at home, pretending everything was okay…at least until the rebellion came along. Today, you'd have been a nobody, just a mixed-up girl, who wanted to be a rebel but couldn't hack it, and is living off whatever is left of a corrupted family's fortune," I yelled.

Somewhere in the middle of that, we'd both got up and were standing inches apart. She was looking up at me with a hard expression, but I knew her well enough to be able to tell that she was trying her hardest not to cry. I'd gone too far.

"I hate you, Galileo, I really do," she spat.

I didn't know what to say. All I knew was that it felt like in the past two minutes, the rift between us had practically doubled in size. She was standing right there, close enough for us to feel each other's breath, but it felt like she was a million miles away from me…

She said bitterly, "You know, about what I was going to tell you before: then, I wasn't completely sure if I wanted to say it anymore. I still had some doubts, and maybe some hope left too. Now though, I'm positive about it. Galileo, things just aren't working. If you think back, they never were. I think…"

I knew what she was going to say, and I didn't want to hear it. If she said it, I knew that we'd never be able to bridge the gap between us, and I didn't want that. I didn't want to lose her, so I did the only thing I could do: I grabbed her and kissed her, as hard as I could. I'd been half-expecting her to push me away, smack me across the face and walk off, but she didn't; she kissed back with the same kind of energy as mine, one full of hurt, fury, loneliness, bitterness, and, most of all, love.

When we broke away from each other, I took her face in my hands and looked her dead-on. She didn't look angry anymore; with her face streaked with tears and eye make-up like that, she just looked scared and sad.

"I missed you," I said quietly.

She opened her mouth to say something, but I stopped her, putting my hand against her mouth, "No, not yet…later."

She nodded and put her head against me. I squeezed her as tightly as I could. I wanted to stay like this forever, knowing that she was right there, as close to me as possible. When I had her like this, I felt like I had nothing in the world to worry about.

"Galileo," she murmured, "What are we going to do? We can't live with each other…"

I finished the sentence, "But we can't live without each other either. I know."

"Eh, they're back together!" I heard Pop cry.

We both turned to look at him, just in time to see Oz smack him in the back of the head and hiss, "Shut up, you old coot!"

Scaramouche laughed and looked at me, "I think that for once in his whole life, Pop is right about something."

I felt a grin spreading across my face, "Does that mean we're…"

"Oh yeah, baby," she wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me.

"No more flying objects!" Pop shouted gleefully.


	5. Hey, You Know

Hey you all,

Well, this theme has been giving me some issues. lol Major issues. Sooo I've tweaked it in a few little places, although I'm still undecided as to whether or not I like it.

I'm feeling really WWRY pumped these days though! 19 days until Erica! swoon lol

Reviews are always lovely.

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**Hey, You Know**

"Your turn, hen," Oz smiled, taking a long swig of her whiskey.

I stood up to refill my glass at the counter, "Okay…name one thing you've always wanted to do, but never have, and why. Pop first."

"A threesome," he grinned, "Which never happened because nobody ever would...Why don't we make a good man's dreams come true?" He eyed Oz and me mischievously.

"No thank you," I wrinkled my nose, and filled my glass with beer, "Oz?"

"Have kids," she sighed longingly, "Never found the right guy…somebody always took off at the last minute. How about you, Figgy?"

"Play a guitar solo," he answered, "I haven't got the talent, and a certain somebody never bothered to teach me."

"Oh, honey, all you had to do was ask," I giggled, feeling just a little on the tipsy side. I seated myself down on his lap and planted a very wet kiss on his lips.

"Of course," he grinned.

"Ooh, it's my turn isn't it?" I said, sitting up straight, "Well, I've always wanted to kick a guy in the groin. Really hard, as in. Never had the guts though…" I then laughed so hard I nearly fell off of Galileo's lap. He immediately grabbed my glass away from me.

"I think you've had enough of this," he arched an eyebrow at me.

"I don't," I shook my head furiously, trying to grab it back, but he kept pulling it away.

"Fine. Spoil my fun, why don't you?" I crossed my arms.

"Somebody here has to be responsible," he grinned.

"You, of course, are the perfect candidate," I kissed him squarely on the bridge of his nose, and then said, "You ask something, Pop."

"One thing that you would have liked about being a Gaga," he smiled widely.

Oz let out her signature cackle, "Are you kidding?"

"You know you've thought about it," he shrugged, "We all have at least once."

"Well, the clothes I definitely would not have liked," she sighed, "But I have to admit I wouldn't complain about the money…imagine being able to have nice things."

"No dreams," Galileo said matter-of-factly, "Not being scared I was going insane every time I went to sleep."

"Not having to wait 18 years of my life to finally be a part of something I could be proud of," I declared.

"Being able to work," Pop said finally.

Galileo choked on his (my) drink, "You? Wanting to work?"

"Well, yes," he nodded, "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Just a little," I laughed.

Upon noticing his injured expression, Oz softened, "Oh Pop, you know we love you. It's just so…unlike you."

He frowned, and then brightened up a little, "It is, isn't it?"

"Definitely…Now then, loves, how many people have you ever been with? Specifics, please," she paused, expecting one of us to answer. When we didn't, she frowned, propping her head up with one of her hands, "I'll go first then. There was Xavier, whom I nearly married. I ran away at the last minute, only to find the second and only other man I've ever been with. Britney, of course."

"Five lovely ladies," Pop announced, "One in my youth, while her parents were out, three were Fat-Bottomed Girls…the last was the loveliest of all: my wife. She died though, which was when I left the Gaga way of life." He had a sad, wistful look on his face, and nobody could think of anything appropriate to do, so we all just nodded in silence.

"Well," Oz cleared her throat, and said, "How about you Galileo?"

"Just the one," Galileo beamed at me proudly. I blushed furiously, for more reasons than I'd have liked him to know.

"Adorable, isn't he?" Oz smirked, playfully elbowing Pop. They both chortled, looking disturbingly parental.

Galileo reddened, looking quite sweet, really, but I sat quietly, hoping they would forget about me.

"I think I'll go on up to bed now," Oz declared after a moment of silence, "Coming Pop?"

"Oh," he stood up, "Yes, yes…good night."

"Night, you all," I smiled in relief.

"G'night," Galileo nodded at them.

They walked off and he whispered in my ear, "Just you and me now, babe."

"Oh yeah," I straddled him, feeling considerably more at ease, and planted another kiss on his lips.

"Scaramouche," he began, slinking his arms around my waist, "You never did answer the question…"

"What question?" I murmured, laying a trail of kisses along his collarbone.

"From before…about how many guys you've been with," he pulled away, looking at me seriously.

"Oh baby, can't we just forget about that? It was just a stupid game," I puckered my lips into a pout.

"No, no, no," he shook his head, "You're not getting out of this one with a cute face."

I crossed my arms, "Galileo, let's just leave that alone."

"What?" he frowned, "Have you got something to hide?"

"No," I answered sourly. A little white lie never hurt anyone, right?

"Then tell me," he said simply.

"No."

"Scaramouche."

"No."

"Why won't you tell me how many guys you've ever been with? It's not a hard question or anything…"

"Because…well…because I don't know."

"What?" his eyes widened.

"I never bothered keeping track," I answered, feigning what I hoped was indifference.

"You didn't care to, or you never bothered learning to count?" he scowled. Shit. I was in trouble.

"I don't feel like talking about it," I got off of him, "I'm going to bed."

"No you're not," he grabbed my wrist, standing up too.

"Yeah, I think I am," I tried –and failed- to pull away.

He looked at me straight in the eye, the surefire way to make sure I wasn't lying to him, "Why don't you know how many?"

"There were too many to count," I answered impatiently, "Now can I go?"

"No!" he cried, "You owe me some kind of clarification!"

"Hey, you know, Galileo, it may come as a shock to you, but I had a life before I met you. I wasn't some kind of pure virginal goddess just waiting for her knight in a leather jacket to liberate her from her virginity," I shot back.

"What are you saying?" he wrinkled his brow.

I planted my hands firmly on my hips, "It means that maybe I was never _with_ Pop and his Fat-Bottomed Girls, but chances are I saw him around."

He stared at me blankly, and finally croaked the words, "Explain, please."

I sighed, irritated, "There are only a few ways a girl can make a living when she's still in high school and has left home, you know. I had to earn money somehow."

"So you…" he gaped at me, his eyes enormous and his jaw hanging lower than I had thought was humanly possible.

"Yes," I said finally wrenching my wrist free of his grasp, "_Now_ can I leave?"

"I… but…you…you said you didn't…that you'd never had any friends," he stammered.

"Friends? You call _those_ friends?" I snorted, "Oh baby, you have more to learn about life than you realize."

"Like what?" he asked looking offended.

"For one, that the men courtesans sleep with aren't their 'friends'," I replied, "Jaysus, don't make me laugh!"

He looked away from me, looking both hurt and angry, and muttered, "Just when you think you know somebody…"

"Galileo…stop…don't be like that…" I placed my hand on his cheek, pushing his face to look at me again, "Please?"

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy here! Remember, you're the one who worked as a whore," he snapped.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, feeling worse than if he'd have smacked me.

Of course, somebody up there with a twisted sense of humor must have been watching, because just then, he raised a hand and smacked me hard across the face. I raised my hand to gingerly touch my cheek, still in shock. If I hadn't felt the stinging sensation, I wouldn't have believed that he'd just hit me.

"You should have told me!" he roared suddenly, "How could you have hidden something so important? There's a whole other girl in you that I had no idea existed, and she's not a girl I love. Hell, she's not even a girl I like." His eyes were ablaze with fury and his whole body was tense. For the first time since I'd ever met him, I felt incredibly scared of him. This man in front of me wasn't my Figgy...

"I'm the whole other person?" I shrieked, refusing to cry, "I'm not that girl anymore. My whole world is different. Take a look in the mirror, Galileo, and you'll see that you're the one who's just become this whole other person…and this new person isn't one I love either."

"What a coincidence," he rolled his eyes.

And then, he did something I never would have expected. He started laughing, bitterly at first, then hysterically. He was turning red, doubling over, and tears were even streaming down his face.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

He immediately stopped laughing, and looked at me furiously, "You want to know what's so funny?"

"Yes, please," I replied curtly.

He chuckled a little, then shoved one hand in his pocket, and retrieved a small box. He tossed it at me, and said flatly, "This. I was going to give you this tonight. Ha."

I watched him turn around and walk away as I clutched the little grey box tightly.

When he was gone, I sat down on the couch, and took a deep breath before I opened it. The moment the lid snapped open, I gasped. I never thought that such a beautiful ring could make me cry so much.


	6. The Space Between Dream & Reality

Hey you all,

Not much of an Author's Note right now, because I'm listening to "Too Much Love Will Kill You" and it makes me cry. Just thank you all very much for the reviews; you're lovely.

xxx

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**The Space between Dream and Reality**

It's been nearly two years since we defeated Killer Queen, nearly two years of restful nights, devoid of the dreams. At least, that's what I've been saying. Big Macca always told me that after the war was over, and my "destiny was fulfilled", I'd gradually stop having them. Within a year, I should have been sleeping well at night. He was wrong though, because my dreams haven't gone away. Not one bit. The worst part is I don't forget them when I wake up. I remember ever single one of them so vividly, it's almost scary. They're different now though. Instead of being hopeful and telling me I have a mission to accomplish and that it would lead to great things, they show me what could have been and how much my mistakes have made the whole world suffer. They show me how twisted everything is now, how this is not the way things were meant to be.

In my dreams, Globalsoft has been taken down. Gaga's don't exist anymore, because stereotypes of any kind don't exist. Everybody is who they want to be, not who they're told to be. You go outside, and there are all kinds of people out there, and nobody is made fun of because of what they like. People who still like things typically Gaga are accepted, the same way more Bohemian-like people are. If you're neither one, and you lie somewhere in-between, then that's okay too, because society doesn't think in black and white anymore. Society doesn't even think in grayscale! It's more of a Technicolor kind of mentality, really. People are judged by who they are on the inside, by their values and their character, trite as that sounds. People are free in a way they didn't think they would ever be able to experience again.

In reality though, it's not like that. Globalsoft, at least, is gone, and Gaga's don't exist either. That's only because Bohemians have replaced them. Nobody likes the old peppy, preppy, rah-rah-rah music, clothes, or way of life. If they do, they're made fun of. Would-have-been-Gaga's have become the pariahs. It's like the roles have been reversed, but the ideology hasn't changed. People are pressured to be more "Boho", as the way of life has been baptized. Your fishnets must be more ripped. You should wear more leather. You should get dreadlocks. Above all, you _must_ listen to rock and roll! If you should happen to not worship the almighty Dreamer and his Bad-Assed Babe, then you will be persecuted. It sounds ridiculous, but it's true. I saw it.

One day, somebody saw me in the streets and screamed, as she ran up to me and asked me to sign something for her. It started a commotion, and pretty soon, people were crowded around me, vying for my attention. Then, one girl sighed and said, "You know, maybe you should relax. Take a pill or something. He's not God." Somebody shrieked back, "Don't you dare say that!" and then actually punched her.

It's disgusting. The Bohemians, especially the "New Boho" crowd, have turned into hypocrites, becoming everything they once hated about the Gaga's. The worst part is they don't even realize it yet.

I haven't told anyone about my realization, or these new dreams though; it would spoil everything for them. They still think that everything's going according to plan. It would make them worry and feel guilty…especially Scaramouche.

Oh Scaramouche…she's the most unsuspecting of everyone. She's so happy now that things are finally going right for her.

"Figgy, I've got to tell you something," she beamed at me one day, "Thank you."

"You're in an unusually good mood today," I asked, "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," she laughed, "It's just…well, thank you."

"What did I do?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm being totally honest right now," she took a deep breath, "When I met you, my life completely and utterly sucked. Then, you came along, and somehow...everything's changed. People don't throw insults at me anymore, I can be myself and not worry about it, I have people who care about me, I've found something I'm good at…and I've got you. Everything right now is amazing; it's all I've ever wanted and more." She smiled at me, looking sweet, shy and, frankly, very…un-Scaramouchesque.

It hasn't occurred to her that this newfound popularity she's gained has just made her a Teen Queen, only wearing a corset and donning purple hair. It would break her heart to realize that her whole world is an illusion.

I hate hiding this from her though. I want to tell her. I'm supposed to be honest with her. Along with always being faithful to each other, and being there in sickness, health and all those other things, it was part of our promise to each other. If you couldn't open up to your one and only, after all, who could you open up to?

Deep down, I know that after she gets over the sad recognition of how things really are, she'll understand what I'm saying is true. She'll want to do something about it. Maybe, just maybe, with her help, I'll be able to fix things. We'll be able to make the dreams –the real dreams- come true. The problem there comes in with this little phrase: after a while… After a very long while, because she'd be miserable at first. I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing how much what I'd told her had hurt her.

It's a paradox. If I tell her, she'll be inconsolable, and I'll have to wait out the mourning of her new life of happiness, however long that would be. She'll be furious with me, I'm sure. She might never even forgive me for ruining everything. At least she'll know though. If I don't tell her, she'll be happy for now, but I won't be. I'll never be really happy, knowing that our world is just as fake as it ever was. Besides, if she finds out later, on her own, she'll be furious anyway, for my not having told her. And she'll be miserable when she realizes the truth, all the same.

"Figgy?"

I turned around to find Scaramouche standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She grinned, "Are you talking to yourself again? Didn't I warn you not to do that anymore? People are going to think you're _really_ crazy if they find out."

I smiled weakly at her.

"So, talk to me," she walked towards me, and then started kneading the back of my neck with her hands, "What's on your mind?"

"Just…stuff…," I sighed.

"You're really stiff today, you know that? I don't think it's something as trivial as 'stuff' for you to be this tense," she answered.

"Hmm," I said absent-mindedly.

"I must say, you're quite the conversationalist today," she said dryly.

"Sorry, I'm just…"

"Tired, I know. You told me yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and the day…"

"Okay, Scaramouche, I get it. You can stop."

"Somebody's touchy today," she retorted. After a pause, she said quietly, "You've been 'tired' a lot these days though. I'm starting to get a little worried."

"Don't," I shook my head, and then turned around to look at her.

"I can't help it. I _am_ your wife, remember?" she smiled, "If I don't take care of you, nobody will."

I smiled at her wryly, but didn't say anything.

"Honestly, Figgy, are you sure nothing's wrong?"

I studied her face, her frown, her furled brow, and her big eyes, filled with concern before I opened my mouth. I closed it right away though, not quite sure what I was going to say.

She raised her eyebrows at me expectantly.

Finally, I said, "Nothing, nothing at all."

"Good," she said brightly, "That just means this whole 'tired' thing is a matter of not getting enough sleep…which can be very easily remedied."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Oh yeah…As a matter of fact, we can start working on it right now."

"How so?" I asked as innocently as I could.

"Well, if you start doing everything earlier, then you can get yourself to the oh-so-lovely Land of Nod earlier," she wrapped her arms around my neck, "And there are a few things that I can think of that we should get started on right away…if you want to go to sleep earlier, that is."

I felt a smile tugging on the corner of my lips, "Scaramouche, where are you going with this?"

She gave me a soft kiss, and then pulled away, just a few inches, and smiled mischievously, "To the bedroom."

When she leaned forward again to give me another kiss, I didn't object. I let her take me by the hand and bring me to our bedroom too. To everything she wanted, I obliged; I figured I should let her have her fantasies. Decidedly, for the moment, some things were better left unsaid.


	7. Superstar

Hello luvs,

Wow...it's been a while. I'm out of practice, so I'm really not sure how this has turned out. I think I like it though...lmao Reviews are always very much appreciated though, you know.

As always, I don't own WWRY, no matter how much I wish I do...

xxxx 3

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**Superstar**

He kissed her softly, first tentatively, then more surely. As he pulled away, still staring into her great eyes, he licked his lower lip, tasting the traces of her lip-gloss. Strawberry. He just looked at her a second, lying there, looking like an angel. Then,"Do you want to…" he asked softly. Before he could finish the question, she closed her eyes, dark lashes fluttering, gave a little smile, and nodded. He nodded too, and swallowed before fingering the ribbons on her corset. Gingerly, he undid the bow and started pulling the black satin ribbons out from the holes. He shuddered a little as the corset gradually loosened, revealing a little more of her body, until…

"Cut!" a rough voice suddenly yelled. A squat man with a cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth stomped towards the bed they were lying on. Acclaimed film director Joseph Byrd growled, "Figaro, be a man! Take control of the girl! Show her who's boss! Where's the Shagileo Gigolo I've heard comes out at night?"

"Well, the thing is, it doesn't feel right," Galileo explained, now sitting up. Gesturing towards the girl, who was sitting up too, and retying her corset, "Vanessa's a beautiful girl and all, but I don't know. She's just not Scaramouche."

There was a pause and he added, "And it's not night-time either."

James Byrd sighed, shook his gleaming, shaved head and then stared at Galileo for a second. He stroked his silvery goatee in deep thought before saying another word. Finally, he announced, "Enough for now! Everyone, go home!" Vanesssa sighed, tossed her long sheet of dark her over her shoulder, and stood up.

"Bye," she said curtly. She didn't even bother to turn her beautiful head to face them. She proceeded to walk off-set, her hips swaying with each step.

Galileo stood up off the bed and started walking off too, when Byrd stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, then cupped Galileo's chin with his free hand. Galileo couldn't help but notice the enormous topaz ring glittering on his pinky.

"Figaro," he said exasperatedly, "_Try_ to toughen up, would you? I don't think a tough chick like Scaramouche likes having a wimp in the bedroom."

Galileo blushed and mumbled, "Of course not, sir."

"As I thought," Byrd grinned, the stump of a cigar rolling from one corner of his mouth to the other, "Remember boy, this is a big movie you're in! International! A classic in the making! This isn't some silly concert, so take it seriously! You are after all the star. If you're not feeling it, nobody else can. Got it?"

Galileo simply nodded in response before walking away. He ran a hand through his hair muttering something –probably curse words- under his breath. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, his signature sign of frustration and deep thought.

"Scaramouche, that guy is crazy," he murmured after he'd made his way towards me and slipped his arms around my waist.

"Poor baby," I teased, having to stand on tip-toe to kiss him, even though I was wearing 3-inch heels.

"Seriously!" he cried, pulling away, "_I'm_ going crazy too, just having to work with him!"

"So why don't you quit?" I frowned.

"I'm the Dreamer; I can't quit. I'm the face of Bohemia, remember?" he replied.

"How could I forget?" I rolled my eyes, "The Almighty Dreamer, at the beck and call of all of Bohemia, even if he's putting himself at stake."

He chuckled to himself a little.

"What?" I crossed my arms.

"Is that what's upsetting you?"

Before I could respond with anything other than a glare, he grinned at me, "I think what's really bugging you is that it's putting his alone time with a certain bad-assed babe at stake. Isn't that right, Miss Mouche?"

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"You know it bothers me."

"That's why I use it."

"To piss me off?"

"To see you get all red and pouty like that," he kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, "It's adorable."

"I'm not adorable."

"Yeah," he kissed my neck again, "You are."

"Figgy, let's get out of here. This isn't the place for this. I don't feel like seeing the mighty Byrd-Man anymore."

"Whatever you say, Miss Mouche."

"Shut up."

When we got back home, he offered to make me tea, chamomile, the way he knows I like it, and he said we could watch one of those French movies with subtitles that I like so much. He claimed it was because he was in the mood for that sort of thing, but I knew better. He just wanted to get back in my good graces, after the Miss Mouche thing. After all, he even said he'd cuddle.

"Scaramouche?" he began as I settled down on his lap.

"Yes," I tilted my head up to look at him.

His brow was knitted with concern when he asked, "Are you still mad at me?"

"If I say I am, what are you going to do?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Try and make it up to you?"

"And if I say I'm not?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"Be happy that I don't have to sit through another movie with subtitles."

I laughed.

"So…are you?" he asked.

"Angry with you?" I put my cup of tea on our bed-side table, and changed position so I was facing him, "Nah."

"Were you angry before?"

"Not really."

"Scaramouche, that's not very nice," he frowned, "Letting me think you were angry…"

"I know," I answered simply, "But when _you_ get all flustered and worried, well…now _that_ is adorable."

"Sometimes, you're evil," he murmured, wrapping his arms around my waist, "Did you know that?"

"Mmhmm," I answered burying my face in his black t-shirt. With one hand, he kept hold of my waist, and with the other, he started twirling strands of my hair around his fingers. I breathed in deeply, enjoying this quiet moment together, finally. He was so busy these days, with that stupid Byrd-Man and his "international film". Honestly, it wasn't just Byrd after him though; it was the whole world. Galileo was everywhere: his picture was on posters and billboards, plastered throughout the city, his voice could be heard on at least one radio station at any given time, and the products of all his hard work –in terms of both music and leading the Bohemian world- were evident no matter where you turned. He was a superstar.

Everybody wanted to get their hands on the infamous Dreamer, Galileo Figaro. _My_ Galileo Figaro. Magnifico, to say the least…especially when he was holding you close and whispering sweet songs in your ear.

"_**Mamma, ooh!**_"

"Who the hell is that?" I scowled, recognizing the ringer, indicating that someone was calling Galileo on his Communicator.

"Wait up a second," he pulled away from me as he searched through his pockets for the ringing object, whose Mamma's were gradually growing louder and louder. Finally, he found the little blue Communicator in his back-pocket, "It's Byrd."

"Jaysus Christ," I growled, "Not a moment's peace…"

"Shh," he gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before standing up to take the call, "Hello?"

He walked towards the big window in our room and started pacing while he talked to Byrd, whose raspy voice I heard all the way where I was waiting, sitting on our bed. I rolled my eyes and hugged my knees close to my body.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally heard him say, "Alright then…bye."

He walked back towards me, running his fingers through his hair, letting his hand linger on the back of his neck for a second. Finally, he put his Communicator on the bed-side table, sat down next to me, and, with a sheepish grin, said, "Sorry about that."

"Whatever," I made a bad attempt at an understanding smile, "It's cool."

"I didn't mean to keep you waiting," he offered.

"I know," I sighed, and leaned my head against him, "It's not your fault."

He draped one arm around my shoulders and asked, "Can I make it up to you?"

"You can try," I smiled.

He kissed my ear, then my neck, and moved along to my lips. With his warm hands pressing me closer to him, I felt my blood rushing to my head, and my heart starting to pound. Two years with him and he still did this to me…

I pulled away for a second, and whispered, "Figaro, I love you. I really love you, you know that?"

He gave me his lop-sided smile, and answered, "Oh, do…"

"_**Mamma, ooh!**_"

We both froze then, looking at each other. Suddenly, he started blushing furiously, and I felt my jaw tensing up. We just sat there, not saying a word, his brown eyes staring apologetically into mine.

"_**Mamma, ooh!**_"

He looked away from me, at his Communicator .

"Take the damn call."

"No, Scaramouche, it's okay…I don't have to."

"Go on! Take it," I pulled away from him, and gestured towards the table, "You know you want to."

"No, I don't, I really don't," he shook his head.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"_**Mamma, ooh!**_"

"Scaramouche, I…I…"

"You what?"

"I'm sorry."

"Just go answer that thing."

He bit his lip and stood up to answer, "Hello."

"Yes. Okay. I understand. All right. Tomorrow," he said, starting to pace again, "Mhmm."

This was going to be a long one. I didn't want to pull a fit, and I didn't want to get angry with him. It wasn't his fault, right? So, I tried to busy myself, starting to drink my tea again, and looking for a puzzle book while he talked to Byrd.

But then, when I was looking for a 5-letter word to mean "angry", that had a 'v' in it, I burst. I threw the book aside, and jumped up, sending the blankets on the bed, and everything on it, on the floor. I stomped over to Galileo, "You know what a 5-letter word for 'angry' is? Livid!"

He suddenly stopped talking and looked at me wide-eyed. He looked behind me, at the scene I'd created: the blankets strewn on the floor, the vase I'd knocked over, the cup of tea, now on the floor, the tea seeping into the carpet.

There was silence for a second, until I heard Byrd's voice coming from the Communicator, "Figaro! Why aren't you answering me? Figaro!"

"Give me that thing," I grabbed his phone away from him, and growled, "Do you know what it is to be livid, Byrd?"

Before he could answer, I yelled, "That's how I'm feeling right now. Abso-fucking-lutely livid. Because of you, and your phone calls, and your movie. That's right, your goddamned international film. So you can take your lights, your camera, and your action, and piss off! Now, I'm going to hang up on you. Yes, I will hang up on you. No, I don't care that you're a big film-producer, because I just think you're a maggot. Good-bye, Mr. Byrd!" With that, I hung up on him.

"Very mature," Galileo smirked at me.

"Shut up," I crossed my arms.

"No really," he took the Communicator back from me, and started playing with it, "I like how you handled that."

"You did not," I blew my bangs out of my eyes.

"Does it matter?"

"Not really."

He chuckled, then, "Feel any better?"

"Sort of," I stuck my tongue in my cheek.

He looked from the blue object, looking almost ridiculously small in his big hands, to my face, and then back again. He thrust it towards me, "Here."

"What do you want me to do with this?" I asked.

"Whatever you want," he smiled.

"Anything?" I arched my eyebrows.

"Anything at all," he grinned.

I smiled mischievously, toying with the Communicator, "Does anything consist of maybe flushing this down a toilet?"

He nodded.

"Or maybe dumping it in a boiling pot of tea?"

He nodded.

I walked over to the big window he'd been standing by, "Or chucking it out from here? From 20 stories in the air?"

"Of course," he joined me.

I smiled widely, sliding open the window. I looked down at the little people walking around on the streets, a couple on a motorbike, a girl jogging, a guy holding a coffee… I looked back at Galileo, "May I?"

"Knock yourself out, babe."

I extended my hand, holding the Communicator out the window and let go. I giggled watching it fall, down, down, down, until I couldn't even see it anymore. A feeling of satisfaction came over me and I looked at Galileo with what I knew was a huge grin plastered across my face.

"Now are you feeling better?" he asked, slinking his arms around me.

Burying my nose in his chest, I murmured, "Oh yeah."

He kissed the top of my head, "Glad to hear it…Miss Mouche."


	8. Our Own World

Hey there, luvs.

Oh gosh...I was feeling random for this one...but I sorta like it anyway. Tell me what you think in the ever-appreciated reviews?

I still don't own WWRY...though I'm hoping and praying for a miracle. If that doesn't work out though, I'll settle for Daddy taking me to Toronto to see it again? Yes?

xxxx 3

* * *

**Our Own World**

"We have to tell them, Figgy."

"No, we don't."

"Yeah, we actually do."

"Well I'm not coming," he said, turning his back to me, and sounding very pouty. Sometimes, I could swear that Galileo acted more like a girl than I did.

"Why are you being so difficult?" I shook my head.

"I'm not being difficult," he insisted.

"You are being_incredibly_ difficult," I crossed my arms.

"I am not," he maintained.

"We can't just not tell them, you know. You can hardly expect us to keep living in our own little world, away from civilization, away from my parents… Hell, we're even away from _Bohemia_, since you decided we needed "privacy", and that we should move into our own place, outside the Heartbreak!"

"You know, Scaramouche, I'm actually not telling you that we don't have to tell them. You can go right ahead…just as long as I'm not around when you do."

"Galileo!" I cried.

"What?" he looked at me, feigning a look of nonchalance.

"Baby, you can't make me tell them alone," I frowned.

"Why not?"

"We are getting_married_. Marriage, Galileo Figaro, is the union of two people. Does it seem very united to announce a marriage without your partner?"

"Yes, if you're announcing the marriage to the bride's psychotic father."

"Sometimes, Galileo," I sighed, "I wonder why I put up with you."

"Well," he smiled sheepishly, "You must sort of like me since you agreed to marry me."

"True," I grinned, "Though it could have just been your accent."

"It was not!" he said indignantly.

"Of course not," I murmured, leaning forward and taking his face in my hands. It was time for a new approach, "Now tell me, Figgy, will you please come with me?"

"No," he answered, blushing.

"How about now?" I kissed his neck.

"N-n-no," he stammered.

I whispered in his ear, "Please?"

"N-n-no-o-o," he sputtered. I could practically feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

"Why not?" I nibbled on his earlobe.

"Sc-Sc-Scaramouche, st-st-sto-stop!" he pulled away, his face red as a cherry tomato, "Please!"

"Well aren't you adorable?" I smiled mischievously, "All flustered like that!"

"Se-seriously-ly, your parents huh-huh-huh-hate me," he insisted, breathing heavily.

"Figgy," I scowled, angry that he still wasn't co-operating, "They don't hate you!"

"I swear they d-do," he insisted, still blushing.

"Why would you say that?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "You see the looks your father gives me."

"What looks?" I tried to fake an air of innocence…and failed, judging by the grimace Figgy was giving me.

"These looks," he scowled, letting his lower lip curl, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes squint. All in all, he looked more unattractive than menacing…all the same, I knew exactly which looks he meant. They were the ones my father gave door-to-door salesmen. Enough said.

"Besides," he added, "He calls me names."

"He does not!" I protested, "He always just calls you 'Figalo', remember? That's really not that bad of him, is it?"

"Scaramouche, as soon as you leave the room, I don't get 'Figalo'," he said flatly, "He calls me 'that crazy bastard who brainwashed his innocent daughter'."

"Oh," I said quietly, unsure what to say next. I sat down on the red sofa in our room, hugging my legs close to my chest. There was a silence until I offered, "Well, it's not because he doesn't like _you_, Figgy. He just doesn't like that you're his daughter's boyfriend."

"Fiancée," he corrected.

"Even worse," I retorted. I noticed the injured look on Galileo's face, "Worse for _him_, Figgy."

"Oh," his expression brightened a little.

"Come on, Figgy, give me one good reason, that goes beyond what any protective father would do to his only daughter's fiancée, why you shouldn't be there when I tell my parents we're getting married," I challenged him. When he didn't answer, I arched an eyebrow, "Hit me with your best shot… 'Figalo'."

"You want a good reason?" he approached me.

"Fire away," I nodded.

"Okay," he stooped down so that his face was level with mine, "Are you ready for this?"

I nodded. His deep brown eyes stared into mine, and his expression was stony as he uttered the words, "He uses me for target practice."

"He what?"

"Uses me for target practice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I wrinkled my nose.

"It means," he sat down next to me, "That he made me run around while he shot at me."

"You're joking," I said flatly.

"Ha! I wish," he responded.

"He uses you for target practice," I said incredulously.

"That's what I said," he nodded, giving me a half-smile.

"He does not," I bit down hard on my lower lip, "He can't!"

"He can and he does," he replied.

"No way," I shook my head.

"You're in denial, baby," he draped his arm across my shoulder, wearing a look of superiority mixed with affection that _I_ usually gave _him_.

"You're just teasing me…aren't you Figgy?" I looked at him hopefully.

He shook his head, "He even makes me wear toy antlers."

I stared at him aghast.

"Run, Figalo, run!" he growled in a perfect imitation of my father.

"I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry," I mumbled wide-eyed.

"Both?" he suggested.

I just sighed instead. After a moment's thought I said, "Well you know what the bright side is?"

"That I don't have to come?"

"No, you're still coming."

"Scaramouche, I just proved that he hates me!"

"Oh Figgy, he doesn't hate you a bit," I shook my head with a smile.

"He uses me for target practice, remember?" he waved his hand in front of my face, "Earth to Scaramouche. You don't shoot at someone you like."

"Baby," I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips, "If he hated you, he wouldn't have missed."


	9. Dash

Hey loves,

First of all, thank you very, very much for the sweet reviews. You all are awesome, as is the ever-loved beta reader, CrimsonSuspense. :)

Secondly, this is an...interesting chapter. It was something I had to get out of my system though, so here it is...

Thirdly, I still don't own WWRY, sadly.

Fourthly, let's all band together and get rid of these people who have posted non-WWRY related stories in the WWRY section, please! **Report them.**

Fifthly and lastly, I just want to remind you all, in case a few of you are a little confused, that each "Kiss" is its own story, un-related from the others. This is just a series of one-shots, not a story that reads from beginning to end. I hope that clears things up a little.

xxxx 3

* * *

**Dash**

"You are incorrigible, and neurotic, and down-right impossible!" she yelled, her cheeks crimson and her hair falling out of its ponytail.

"Yeah well, you're…you're…," I faltered, "You're not very nice!"

"Ha!" she snorted, "Well aren't you a budding genius? 'Not very nice.' Sometimes I wonder why I'm with such an idiot."

"Shut up, Scaramouche."

"Well, honestly, Figaro, I wonder," she said, her voice harsh, "You were in the hospital quite a while longer than I was, you know. So why didn't they suck your brains out when they had the chance? If you think about it, they probably just didn't think it would make a difference, and didn't want to waste their time."

"You can be a real bitch, you know that, Scaramouche?"

"Aren't you a clever little banker," she rolled her eyes, "Did you come up with that by yourself, or did someone have to give you creative input…you know, one of those little voices in your head?" she crossed her arms tightly across her chest, looking pleased with herself.

My face reddened, though not in embarrassment, as she probably assumed. No, I was angry. I'd had enough of her stupidities.

"You've gone too far this time," I shook my head.

"Oh, I'm shaking in my combat boots," she snapped. I took a couple of steps forward so that I was standing inches away from her. She glared at me, her green eyes flashing.

"_You_ are the insufferable one, Scaramouche," I growled at her. My voice might not have been as loud as her shrieks, but it was definitely as alarming. "You're rude, and pushy, and obnoxious. You think you're so damn wonderful, and that you do no wrong. Newsflash, _Miss Mouche_, you're only human, no better than the rest of us. We're all fed up of your airs, not just me…everyone! You don't have any idea what people say about you. Or maybe you do, and you think you're so amazing that they're all just wrong. Somebody ought to take the time to really deflate that giant head of yours to tell you everything what everyone thinks about you, you condescending bitch. I would, but right now, I'm too angry to give a fuck about you."

She looked up at me, eyes wide and shiny, lower lip quivering, and hissed, "I cannot stand you."

"The feeling is mutual," I spat, "_Babe_."

"Good to know," she ran her tongue across her teeth.

I shook my head, turned on heel and walked away, slamming the door behind me. I needed to calm down. She just got me so…_frustrated_ sometimes, when she acted like she knew it all. Why did she have to be like that?

This had all started, by the way, over the fact that I told her, maybe, just maybe, her skirt was a little short. What a stupid thing to fight about! But of course, she _would_ have to get all angry and say I was rude, and start complaining about a million other things…

I settled down on a battered old bench, just outside the Heartbreak. Running a hand through my hair, I mentally played back the argument. I saw those eyes of hers, ablaze with fury, heard her angry cries…and mine. I hadn't really called her a condescending bitch…had I? And before that, told her the world would be better off without arrogant, prissy witches like her? Well, she had said I was an insufferable asshole…but then I had said I wished she'd just bug off and disappear.

I kicked my boot in the dirt, sending bits of gravel flying and muttered, "Fuck."

It looked like I'd be sleeping on the couch tonight.

I decided to go back to our room and get my things for the night. When I got there though, I found the door closed, with just a faint glimmer of light shining out from the crack between the door and the floor. I pressed my ear to the door and heard the sound of Scaramouche crying. I bit my lip.

"Scaramouche, are you okay in there?"

Silence.

"Scaramouche, if you don't say anything, I'm coming in," I warned, starting to feel a little worried.

Silence.

"Scaramouche?"

Okay, now I was definitely worried.

"I'm coming in then," I announced, opening the door.

It was dark; none of the lights were on, save the little nightlight on our bedside table. I could still make out her silhouette, curled up in a ball on the bed. I flicked on a light switch and looked at her more carefully.

"Scaramouche, what's the…" I froze when I noticed the thin, silver razor blade sitting next to her and the ominous red liquid covering her hands and seeping into the bed sheets.

She looked up at me sadly, her wide eyes hollow, though her face was tear-streaked. She lifted her hands and attempted to wipe her eyes, instead just smearing blood onto her cheeks. She stared at her hands then, almost in amazement. She let out a strange sound, a cross between a sob and a laugh.

Suddenly, I felt sick.

I dashed to the bathroom as fast as I could. I didn't want her to see that. When I was done, I washed out my mouth, rinsed my face with water and went back to her, two damp washcloths in hand. In silence, I took hold of her right hand and gently wiped it until it was clean. I tore a strip of fabric from the bed sheets…one that was still bright blue, still clean…and wrapped it around her wrist, as tightly as I could. She looked at me, stunned, as I repeated the procedure on her left hand.

"It's to stop the bleeding," I said quietly, trying not to look at her bloody face. I thrust the clean washcloth towards her, "Here…for your face…" She accepted it, and I took the razor at her side, and the other cloth, which was soaked to the point of never being used again, and threw them in the garbage. When I sat down next to her again, she had washed off her face, and was clutching onto the yellow washcloth as though her life depended on it.

"Why'd you do that?" I whispered.

Her only response was to start sobbing even harder. Her whole body shook, and her long, pale lashes shimmered with tears. She looked so scared, and hurt…and beautiful. Always, hopelessly beautiful. I put my arms around her, holding her as tight as I could, like I was a giant bandage, holding her together. I swallowed my own tears, for once, as I stroked her hair. She needed me now. This time, I couldn't be all weepy.

"Shh…it's okay, Beautiful," I murmured as she buried her face in my chest, "It's okay."

I held her like that for what I knew was at least over an hour, and let her cry. When she had no more tears left, I just let her press her cheek to my chest, while she closed her eyes. Finally, I tried again.

I cupped her chin with one hand, the other still around her waist, and tilted her face up towards me. She looked at me, rosy-cheeked, intensely and miserably at the same time. Rubbing my thumb across her lips, I asked her again, "Why'd you do that?"

"I don't know," she whispered, "I just…did."

I shook my head and sighed, "Scaramouche, there has to be a reason why you did that…of all things. Did you want to…?" I stopped in mid-sentence.

"Want to what?" she looked at me curiously.

I inhaled deeply, and then let it all out, "Did you want to just hurt yourself or actually…"

"No," she interrupted. After a pause, she started again, "You did it, you know."

"What?"

"You did it," she said softly, "You didn't want me to know…that's why you always kept the lights so dim, and why you wouldn't go swimming, and why you always put your shirt back on at night, I guess…but I know you did."

"Oh," I stuck my tongue in my cheek, "Is that why, then…because I had done it?" I felt so terrible at that second. I had done something because it helped me…. It didn't always work. Did she think it was okay to do it?

She shifted a little bit, "I felt terrible…like I should punish myself for everything you'd told me, for everything I've done…and I thought if you'd done it, there had to be something to it. So I did."

"No Scaramouche," I shook my head again, smiling bitterly, and pulled away from her, "It doesn't help. It doesn't make things better. You want to see the only thing it does?"

She didn't answer.

"Let me show you."

I pulled my shirt over my head and she gasped.

"Figgy, no…" she shook her head, "No…" After a second, she stared at my bare chest, and gingerly ran her fingers across it, pausing to feel every scar. She stopped on a particularly deep one and looked up at me.

"Graduation morning," I explained, "My foster parents told me I was a good-for-nothing, that they'd be sending me to work in the wastelands. When I protested, the foster father started hitting me, telling me about my deadhead parents, and how I'd end up just like them. He told me I was a psychopath; that even though they wanted to, they probably couldn't even get me in at the wastelands. The only place I'd ever end up, with those voices in my head, was the insane asylum…or the Seven Seas, if they were lucky; it was a cheaper option. I couldn't believe that was what was in store for me. I got angry with myself."

"Oh…" she pulled her hand away quickly, as if the scar had burned her.

"Oh," I repeated, putting my shirt back on, "You see what this gives?"

She nodded.

I took hold of her left hand, "Let's have a look at this, now that it's had time to stop bleeding."

Slowly, I unwrapped the bed sheet-bandage, now speckled with red, gradually revealing more and more of her mutilated wrist. Jagged little slashes of red decorated her white skin. I felt shivers go up my spine. I touched the cuts tentatively, and declared them, "Not too deep. They look worse than they are…" I re-bandaged her, and started again on the other hand. This was more cause for worry.

"Scaramouche," I stared at her wrist aghast.

"What's wrong?"

"You know by how much that one missed a major artery?" I gestured to one particularly deep cut.

She shook her head solemnly.

"A few millimeters."

Her eyes widened as she pulled her hand away from me, "I…I didn't know."

"I'll bet you didn't," I closed my eyes for a second, then looked at her. My voice hoarse, I told her, "We could've lost you…_I_ could've lost you."

I wrapped my arms around her again, a lump forming in my throat, "I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"I thought the world would be a better place, were it devoid of people like me," she answered, her voice muffled against my chest.

I tilted her chin up towards me again, "Never say that. I didn't mean that. I'd never mean that. I'm sorry."

"Me too," she murmured.

"Promise me something, Scaramouche."

"What?"

"Promise you'll never do this again. Promise you'll never even think about this again," I swallowed, "Promise me you'll never hurt yourself again, because I don't know what I'll do if I lose you."

She nodded, "I promise…only…"

"Only what?"

"Promise you won't either."

I laughed a little, "Scaramouche, I haven't done that in years. Not since I met you."

"Really?" her expression brightened a little.

"Really," I affirmed.

"Good," she rested her head on my shoulder.

"I love you, Scaramouche," I kissed the top of her head.

She buried her nose in my neck and whispered, "I love you too."

She didn't have to tell me though. I already knew she did.


	10. Invincible Unrivaled

Hello luvs,

Well, I decided to skip a few...okay, like 6, of the topics for the kisses this time. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten them. I just wanted to do this one right away. XD

I hope you like it, so umm, let me know in those wonderful things known as "reviews", yes:) My beta reader, CrimsonSuspense, just so you all know, is wonderful in the way of reviews. 

I still don't own WWRY. The jerkbums wouldn't sell it to me, and it's not available off ebay. 

xxxx 3

* * *

**Invincible; Unrivaled**

"Galileo Figaro," she murmured into his neck, her breath hot and reeking of rum, "You're one sexy son of a bitch."

He let out a low moan and kissed her, harder, and harder, and harder. He slammed her body against the wall, running his hands up her legs, her skirt starting to ride up her thighs. She just laughed, running her fingers through his dark hair. Neither one of them cared that they were in a bar, surrounded by hundreds of people.

They used to be the pride of Bohemia, the darling Dreamer and his feisty sweetheart. Everyone loved them, and they were happy for a while, making music, laughing, having fun, being in love. And then something happened. They started being rock stars, like the ones from the times of the Great Ones. What had happened to them?

She became an alcoholic and a chain-smoker.

He developed an addiction to drugs.

They used to be my best friends.

I tried to warn them they were playing with fire. I tried to tell them they were only going to get hurt, that their vices were going to kill them in the end. But nobody ever listens to me.

_"Scaramouche, can I talk to you?" I asked tentatively, tapping her on the shoulder in the middle of a game of cards with Galileo._

_She studied her cards, and grinned, "I've got a shitty hand anyway. Later, Figgy." She stood up, leaving her cards, and her boyfriend looking disappointed as he threw his own hand onto the table. Her drink, on the other hand, she took with her as she followed me to my room._

_"Why the glum face?" she asked, sitting down on the corner of my bed._

_"I've got to tell you something, but I know you're not going to like it," I sat down next to her._

_"Won't I?" she swirled around the amber liquid in her glass before taking a sip._

_"Not a bit, I'm afraid," I smiled wryly._

_"Well, get on with it then, I guess," she sighed._

_"You and Galileo, I'm worried about you…"_

_"Not this again!"_

_"Scaramouche, if you just __**listened**__ to me, I wouldn't keep telling you!"_

_"I don't have to listen to you," she snapped, standing up._

_"Please, I'm only telling you because I care about you," I begged her._

_"Fine, whatever," she rolled her eyes, slumping back down onto the bed._

_"Those cigarettes are only going to hurt you," I said quietly._

_"They will not."_

_"They're going to ruin your beautiful voice," I shook my head._

_"No they won't!" she pouted, "Watch." She cleared her throat, and sang, loud and clear, though off-key in her tipsiness, "Can anybody find me a half-decent fucking drink?" With that she threw back her head and took a long swig of her drink._

_"Could you put that damn glass down for even a minute?" I growled, "I'm trying to be serious here!"_

_"Fine," she gave me a dirty look, and slammed the glass down on my bedside table, "Whatever."_

_"As much as I disagree with your drinking – and I __**strongly**__ disagree – I think that Galileo's situation is more of a cause for worry."_

_"Why are you constantly worrying about us?" she frowned, "You're turning into such a mother…"_

_"What he's doing is dangerous, Scaramouche, really dangerous," I told her, "I've known people who have done the same things he's doing, and none of them have had very happy endings."_

_She answered me with silence, simply crossing and un-crossing her legs._

_"You guys think you're invincible, that nothing can ever happen to you, but you're not. You're not untouchable just because he's the Dreamer and you're his bad-assed babe," I said softly, "Honey, you know how sick he could get because of those drugs?"_

_She didn't answer._

_"He could get really sick, Scaramouche," I cried, "Hell, he could even die! And you know what?"_

"_What?" she rolled her eyes._

"_You're sleeping with him, so whatever he gets, you're going to get it too."_

"_You don't know that."_

"_Why don't you trust me hen?"_

"_I do…you're just over-reacting."_

"_What part of, 'you could die' don't you understand?" my voice cracked in the middle of my sentence._

"_Oz, you think too much," she brushed me off. She picked up her glass, but then put it back down, "You know what? I think you need this more than I do." With that, she walked out on me, her hips swaying with every step._

_I shook my head. Who was she? Who was this she'd turned into? And he was no better. They never listened to me. No matter what I said, they never listened. What was it going to take for them to understand?_

Months went by, and they got worse. His eyes got that glassy look to them, and he was even twitchier than normal. I knew he was spending all his money feeding his addiction. She was up to two packs a day, starting to get that hoarse quality to her voice…and she was eternally drunk. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her sober. They spent more time at after-parties than they did at concerts.

Then, when it was too late, they realized. She'd started getting sick a lot. What had begun a simple cold became something almost as bad as pneumonia. So, she went to see a doctor to have some tests done.

_I walked into the Heartbreak lobby to find her crying in his arms. Something was wrong; something was very, very wrong._

"_What's going on?" I approached them, a sinking feeling in my chest._

_She looked up at me, her face streaked with mascara. Her voice hollow, she said, "You were right."_

His needles weren't sterilized. His needles were infected, and now so was he. He'd gotten AIDS, and he'd given it to her. They were going to end up just like Freddie. 

_I felt sick. I was going to lose them, just like I'd lost Brit…just like how I'd lost everyone..._

"_Goddammit!" I screamed, kicking the wall as hard as I could. _

_Why did everyone I love have to leave? What had I done to deserve that?_

_Air. I needed air. _

_As I walked out, I inhaled deeply, taking in the cold night air. I felt the cold wind against my tear-stained cheeks, whipping my blond dreadlocks around my face. I shivered, hugging my bare arms. I should have thought to grab a sweater before I came out. I noticed one of her cigarette butts on the floor and ground it to dust with my steel-toed boot. _

"_You're such a stupid, stupid girl," I shook my head, thinking of her._

_I heard a sound behind me._

"_Who's there?" I spun around quickly._

"_Don't worry," a deep voice, smooth as chocolate answered, as a tall, dark figure came out of the shadows, "It's only me."_

_It was the Commander…rather, the ex-Commander…Khashoggi. After Wembley, he'd shown up at the Heartbreak, offering his services. He claimed to have seen the errors of his ways, and said he'd help us take down Killer Queen, for good. As much help as he was to us, I still couldn't completely trust him. When someone attempts to suck my brain out, it tends to break that trust, you know. Besides, that red eye of his gave me the shivers. No wonder he wore his sunglasses even at night…_

"_Oh," I tried to wipe my face, my pride getting the better of me._

"_Is anything wrong?" he asked me gently, not at all in the way he usually spoke, in that authoritative, cocky tone._

"_It's nothing," I wiped my eyes again, "There's just…something in my eye; that's all."_

_He looked me over, "Are you sure about that, Miss Osbourne?"_

"_Yeah, I am, Mr. Khashoggi," I crossed my arms._

"_Doubtful."_

"_What do you know anyway?"_

"_I know that you don't cry for nothing."_

"_You're right; I don't," I replied curtly, "Which is why I'm not crying."_

_He laughed a little, "Red eyes, stuffy nose, wet cheeks, streaky eye make-up…looks like crying to me."_

"_Maybe I am crying," I admitted, sitting down on a beat-up bench._

"_So what's the matter?" he sat next to me._

"_My friends are idiots."_

"_Well I could have told you that."_

_I laughed bitterly, "Tell me, oh wise, and all-knowing Commander…"_

"_Ex-Commander," he corrected._

"_Whatever," I shrugged, "Anyway, what unforgivable sin did I commit to deserve this?"_

"_To deserve what?" he asked._

_Oh right, he didn't know yet._

"_Well, when I was in high school, my boyfriend, Max, liked to 'have fun'," I took a deep breath. Why was I telling him this? What the hell would he care? I hadn't told anyone since Brit… "He was addicted to crack…a real junkie…he died of an overdose."_

"_I'm sorry…"_

"_Don't interrupt me! I'm not done yet," I snapped. I paused before continuing, trying in vain not to cry again, "Then there was my dear old dad, a drunk. He drank himself into oblivion, he did. Oh, and then there was Brit. You know about him, don't you? Boy do you ever know about him! And now there's these two."_

"_What about these two?"_

"_Well they're idiots, real fucking idiots."_

"_I know that part."_

_I let out my signature cackle, "He went and got himself addicted to drugs, the moron. He didn't bother to sterilize his needles. She didn't bother to use protection when she slept with him; she was probably too drunk to even remember that protection existed. They've got AIDS, the both of them. They've got two years, tops. Only the good die young…ha…only the stupid, more like…"_

"_I'm sorry, I really am," he said quietly, touching my arm gently. He looked at me, taking off his sunglasses. Suddenly, that red eye didn't seem so scary anymore…_

"_It's not your fault," I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder._

_After a second, I mumbled, "I must sound like such an ungrateful wench. Here everyone around me is sick and dying; I'm the only one who's doing okay, and I'm crying my head off, feeing sorry for myself."_

"_You're the one who's going to end up alone."_

"_Nice rational way of getting me off the hook you've got there."_

"_I'm not getting you off the hook. It's the truth."_

"_Whatever," I looked down at the floor, at his dark shoes next to my platform boots, "And you know what the worst part is?"_

_Not giving him a chance to answer, I said, "Nobody gets it. Nobody knows what it's like to lose everything you've ever cared about."_

"_Nobody?" he asked._

"_What, you think you do?" I snorted. Him, who spent his life taking loved ones away from people like me…_

"_Don't I?"_

_I studied his face and realized, "Yeah, you do."_

_He nodded. He understood. He'd lost everything too. He'd lost the whole world he's built up for himself, and when it was gone…it had left him broken, wanting more than anything to start over again. _

"_Life goes on though," he offered, "You can't keep holding onto the past."_

"_You would know that too, wouldn't you?" my eyes fixed themselves onto the scar running across his right cheek. I wondered how he'd got that scar… I wondered how he'd come to have that red eye… How had he become Killer Queen's right-hand man so young? He couldn't be that old. His hair was white, but he hadn't lost any of it, and his face wasn't wrinkled, even a little bit. His eyes still had that bright look to them. He was 32 maybe…not much older than I was._

"_You know what else I know?" he asked, lifting a hand to stroke my face. His hands were strangely soft for such an imposing man. _

"_What?"_

"_You're quite the young lady," he smiled, tracing my jaw line with his fingertips, "You've got amazing potential that you shouldn't let go to waste, spending your life mourning what could have been."_

"_So what, I'm supposed to just say, 'fuck you all' and forget about them?" I raised an eyebrow._

"_No," he shook his head, chuckling, "You're supposed to keep them in your heart, but not let their memories hold you back."_

"_Where did a big tough guy like you learn this stuff?" I teased him, "Keep them in my heart."_

_He shrugged, "My parents died when I was young. I learnt to cope; I had to."_

_It was my turn to give him my apologies._

_He accepted._

"_What else is there I don't know about you, Khashoggi?" I asked him curiously._

_He grinned, "Are you that curious?"_

"_Yeah," I said softly, "I really am."_

_He slid his hand across my cheek into my hair, "It'll take a while, you know…"_

"_I know," I nodded._

"_And this is something you're willing to invest your time in?" he asked, twisting a fistful of dreadlocks in his fingers._

_I nodded again, "After all, I'm not going anywhere, am I?"_

"_True."_

"_And neither are you…right?"_

"_Again, true."_

_"So we have all the time in the world," I smiled._

_He bent his head and whispered, "We do."_

_I closed my eyes and tilted my head, feeling his lips pressing against mine. I returned his kiss hungrily, putting my arms around his neck, and holding him tightly. His hands let go of my hair and found their way around my waist, pressing against my bare back. I lowered myself onto the bench, but he stopped me._

_"We don't have to you know," he shook his head, looking at me seriously, "You're hurting tonight; you're not thinking straight. Maybe we should wait."_

_"Fine." I huffed._

_He kept an arm around my waist as I leaned my head against his chest, "We do have all the time in the world, right?" I wasn't going to let him bugger off and leave me, not now we knew we had the same feelings, feelings of both love and loss._

_"Right."_

"_Khashoggi?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_I think I may have fallen in love with you a little bit…"_

"_I love you too, Miss Loaf."_


	11. The Way Home Intro

Hello my lovelies! :)

It's been a while, hasn't it? I'd like to, firstly, say thank you to all the wonderful reviewers, because you guys are all truly fabulous. I'd also like to, nextly, say thank you to all the wonderful people who helped me out here...and there were many. ;) I'd also like to mention to you all that no, I do not own We Will Rock You, not even a little bit. Now comes what I've actually wanted to talk to you all about...

If you look at the date this was first posted, the story I mean, you'll see that it was a year ago, tomorrow. Now, I'm a truly spastic person who gets very sentimental about things like anniversaries. So, I won't say exactly what they are, but I've got a few surprises for you all in celebration of this anniversary; I just hope very much that you'll like them, and also that you'll review, please and thank you. With that, here's the first installment in what I call the "Whammy Kiss", the "Mega-Kiss", but you can call it whatever you so desire.

Love you loads.

xxxx 3

* * *

_The war had ended, for Gaga and Bohemian alike. Now, there were only people: no cliques, and no segregation. Truly, it was a new golden age... at least, that's what the Bohemians had in mind the night that the negotiations following the armistice, caused by the death of Killer Queen, finally ended. In a matter of hours, what were once somber barracks had been turned into vibrant halls of music, laughter, and -wait for it- sexual release. Everyone was ready to finally let it all hang loose...except for the most likely candidates..._

"Going to the bar again, Miss Mouche?" I raised an eyebrow, my eyes following Scaramouche as she stood up from her seat. I pushed off from the wall I'd been leaning against and made to follow her as she started to walk away.

She stopped in her tracks and turned back to me, a look I didn't recognize in her eyes, "No…going to bed, actually."

"Oh," I made a weak attempt at hiding my surprise by smiling, which she easily recognized as fake. She cleared her throat awkwardly, waiting for me to say something else, but…I really wasn't sure how to answer to that. I couldn't help it…a party that Scaramouche wanted to leave early? That wasn't something you saw every day.

Her eyes flickered to the floor as she pursed her lips, "Well…I'm off then."

I watched her carefully as she made her way through the crowd of people, smiling and shaking her head when they asked her to stay, trudging along in her big black boots. She'd never admit it, but she was adorable. I took another swig of my beer before putting the glass down on the table next to me. As far as I was concerned, a party without Scaramouche wasn't a party worth going to. Besides that, if there was just one person I wanted to be celebrating with tonight, it was her.

"Excuse me," I tried to push my way through a group of Bohemians blocking the stairwell as they urged each other to, "Chug, chug, chug!"

They ignored me so I pushed harder. Finally I managed to squeeze between Little Richard and Shania, coming out of it with a stream of beer down the front of my t-shirt.

I managed to catch Scaramouche just as she was going into her room, "Hey!"

She turned around, "Oh…hi."

"So…I was thinking," I smiled, clearing my throat as I approached her, "Since it's a time to celebrate and all…"

"Galileo," she cut me off brusquely.

"What?" I asked, caught off-guard by how cold she was being.

She smiled a little, realizing I was hurt and started again, softer, "I'm not really in the mood tonight. I'm just tired…" She took a step towards me and put a hand on my arm gently, "That's all, Galileo."

I nodded, putting my own hand on her hip, trying to get a little closer. Almost immediately, she stepped back, "I'm going in now…"

I looked at her curiously as she opened the door and walked into her room. I debated between whether or not I should follow her. She seemed like she wanted some peace and quiet…but if she hadn't wanted me to go in, surely she'd have shut the door…but she did seem tired; maybe she hadn't realized she'd left it open…anyway, what was the harm in my going in? She'd never minded me before…but then she'd never walked away from a party before… Finally, I decided to go in.

Shutting the door behind me, I shook my head, smiling, when I saw her lying down on her bed. Her boots had been discarded and lay in a heap next to her. She had an arm draped across her eyes, eliminating contact with what little light there was in the room, and her legs were all curled up. I walked over to sit down next to her, "Mind if I join you?"

She jolted, sitting up straight. Clearly I was wrong; she hadn't been expecting company. She blinked at me, "Galileo? What are you doing here?"

"I…" I paused. Telling her I thought she'd wanted me to come spend the night with her sounded stupid even in my head, and I knew it would only sound stupider when I said it out loud, "I just wanted to check on you…make sure everything was alright."

"How sweet," she smiled a little wryly, settling down a little bit.

"So…is it?"

Crossing her legs neatly underneath her, she closed her eyes and nodded.

"You mind if I stick around for a while?" I asked tentatively, fiddling with a loose string on her blue blanket.

"I guess not," she answered quietly, "I just…have to change."

"Go ahead," I shrugged, "Doesn't bother me."

She opened her eyes and looked at me strangely for a second. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but shook her head and thought better of it. Slowly, carefully almost, she stood up and went to close her bedroom door, then rummaged through her dresser before emerging with a loose jersey nightshirt. She looked back at me for a second, that same bizarre look on her face, almost studying me. When she realized I knew she was staring, she turned around quickly, but not before I saw that she was blushing…just a little bit, but there was still that little hint of pink in her face. She paused again before pulling her tank top over her head.

I watched her carefully, only partially because of how beautiful I thought she was, and mostly because I was trying to figure out what that look meant. As she slipped the nightshirt on, letting it catch onto her hips before smoothing it out, I realized.

She was embarrassed.

God that stung. She'd never been shy in front of me before, not even our first night together, even though, as she'd reluctantly admitted, we both knew it was her first time. Now, here she was, too inhibited to even change in front of me…like I wasn't her Galileo…like we were strangers, I thought, my heart sinking.

She turned around and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to me, "Mind if I lie down?"

"It never bothered me before," I shrugged, unable to stop thinking about the way things were before…how there wasn't this distance between us…how everything was so _normal_, and now…everything was different.

She made herself comfortable, lying next to me on her side, her legs curled up tight, and one arm on her pillow, the other by her side. I had to admit I didn't like the distance she was keeping between us. I almost felt like I wanted to say something, wanted to complain even, or just inquire as to what was wrong…I just had to find the right words.

_Scaramouche, what's wrong with us?_ No. She'd look at me funny.

_Scaramouche, why are you being so distant?_ No. she'd say that she was less than 6 inches away from me, and that in her books that wasn't much distance at all, now was it?

_Scaramouche, do you still love me?_ No. That, I was too scared to ask.

_Scaramouche…_

My thoughts were interrupted by a presence on my forearm. I looked down and felt a smile break out across my face when I saw her little hand had made its way to rest on my arm. I smiled even bigger, my heart swelling in my chest when she snuggled just a little bit closer to me, enough so that her knees touched lightly against me. I decided to seize the moment and lay down too, still touching her hand. Quietly, I said her name, "Scaramouche?"

"Mm…?" she answered, shifting her legs a little, but not looking at me either.

Bending my head towards hers so that our foreheads were just touching, I whispered, "I missed you."

She looked up at me then, surprised almost, "I missed you too…"

"Yeah?" I moved my other hand to cup her chin, rubbing my thumb slowly across her jaw line. She just nodded in response.

"Do me a favor?" I asked her, sliding my hand up, behind her ear.

"What do you want now?" she smiled a little teasingly, sounding more like the Scaramouche I knew.

"I want you to let me undo this bun of yours," I smiled back, pushing my fingers into her hair.

She laughed a little, lifting a hand to touch her hair self-consciously, "Oh…sure." She wriggled around, propping herself up on her elbows to let me remove the bobby pins holding her hair back into the tight bun she'd adopted months ago, letting the long purple hair I knew and loved fall down around her face. I smiled, smoothing it out, "There's my Scary Bush."

"Scaramouche," she corrected, smiling.

"That too," I grinned, leaning forward to give her a kiss.


	12. The Way Home 1 Her Fingers

Now I know I've been completely & utterly horrible about updating, and I'm so, so, so sorry. I feel actually awful. God. Why do I procrastinate so much? Anyway, I is sohree, and request that anyone I've got on msn harasses me for updates? Don't let up on me! lol

I still love my reviewers, and my amazing beta, who I'm really sorry couldn't check this. See, she's away until next week, and I'm sorry love, but I had to post, or I never would.

Still don't own WWRY. :)

xxxx 3

* * *

She pulled back after a second, almost too quickly, and the look on my face clearly expressed my displeasure at that. She noticed, and tried to make up for it by planting another soft kiss on my cheek before resting her head back down on her pillow. At least she didn't pull her hand away from mine…

I looked down at her pretty little hand, white, with only slightly chipped teal nail polish on her chewed-up nails. I took her little fingers in mine, rubbing her fingertips gently. I remembered a time when they were soft, pudgy and pink…like they belonged to a girl who hadn't worked a day in her life, which Miss Sally Johnson, daughter of snotty, upper-class Mr. and Mrs. Harold Johnson, certainly hadn't. Now though…I wouldn't even recognize those hands. The once sweet, perfect little girl hands had been toughened up, the backs no longer silky smooth from endless amounts of expensive hand cream her mother insisted on buying for her and the tips now calloused and hardened from endless nights of guitar-playing and music-writing with me. God, I missed that…

_"No…Scaramouche…" I groaned, running a hand through my hair. I shook my head with a sigh and hummed the riff for her yet again, "No…it's more like 'Da-da-dum. __Da-da-dum. Da-da-dum-da-da-dum-dum-da-dum!' You see ?" _

_She looked at me, ankles crossed underneath her and guitar in hand. Her lips were pursed and she closed her eyes, as though taking everything I was saying in. _

_I smiled widely, "You understand now, don't you?"_

_After a long pause, she took a deep breath and her green eyes flow open. Slowly, she hissed, "No, I do __**not**__ understand now, Galileo Figaro."_

_"But Scaramouche…what's the problem?" I furled my brow, "I keep showing you and you…you…"_

_"I what?" she narrowed her eyes, her voice a quiet growl, "Don't get it?"_

_I gulped, "Yeah…"_

_"Well then, if I just 'don't get it', then why don't __**you **__play the goddamn riff yourself Galileo?" she snapped. She lifted the guitar strap over her head and thrust it forward towards me, "Here."_

_"…What do you want me to do with this?" I blinked. _

_She pushed the guitar closer to me, and answered slowly, "I want you to play the riff. Obviously, the way I do it isn't to your standards, so here. Go ahead. Show me, master." _

_"You know I can't play this, Scaramouche," I smiled weakly, pushing it back towards her. _

_"Oh, is that so?" she raised an eyebrow, almost sardonically, "Because __**you**__ know I don't have voices in my head. Unless you want to bear with my ignorance, Figaro, I can't play it either. Well, not in a way that pleases your almighty Dreams, anyway…" The look on her face was one I knew very well: complete and utter annoyance, mixed with indignation. I'd done the one thing that Scaramouche couldn't tolerate when we wrote together, hit her one soft spot: my Dreams. It always bugged her that she'd never truly understand my "creative vision". Those were, surprisingly enough, her own words, and not mine. I know, that's what I said. Obviously, I was rubbing off on her. No matter, it was a major blow to her pride and independent spirit that she had to let me be her vessel to the vibe of rock'n'roll. She pouted that it wasn't fair, but that didn't change anything, which only annoyed her further. So, I had learnt, through trial, error, and flying objects aimed at my head, to avoid stressing her out about it too much, but…I slipped up sometimes. _

_Sighing, I smiled at her gently, going for a different approach, "It might not please the Dreams, but your way is just fine by me."_

_"Just fine," she rolled her eyes, but took back her guitar, "That's great, just great. If I'm going for mediocre, that is."_

_"Scaramouche…" I sighed yet again, "Come on. You know what I mean."_

_Puckering her lips for a second, she almost seemed to be fighting back a smile. She conceded then, with a shrug, "Yeah…I do."_

_I grinned, relieved that she had calmed down enough to take to her like any other reasonable girl. Well, Scaramouche, in all fairness, wasn't any other reasonable girl, but, for my sake, she had her moments. I let the silence linger for a few minutes, watching her quietly fiddle with the tuning pegs on the beloved red guitar. I then took a deep breath and suggested, tentatively, "Well…why don't we try one more time? If it works, great, but if it doesn't…that's okay too. Either way, we'll call it quits for tonight. We worked hard enough for today, right?" I offered a small smile at the end of it, hoping she'd agree. _

_There was a pause then as she seemed to consider it. Her eyes flickered from me, to her guitar, then back to me. Finally, she spoke, "Okay. One more time."_

_I crossed my fingers, hoping that it would turn it out alright. It started out fine, and it really sounded good. Much better than before, actually. I was really starting to believe she'd got it. Of course, we both readily admitted that we'd never been lucky people, so it was only natural that just at the end of the riff…it got…messed. That was the only word for it. I didn't even have to tell her that time, she just wrinkled her nose, mentally preparing an angry retort to whatever comment I'd make. I was ready for her though._

_"Well, it wasn't perfect," I leaned forward, plucking the guitar out of her hands easily and putting it aside. I looked back at her, and saw the annoyance spread across her face. I sat down next to her, and continued before she could snap, "But it was definitely good. I'm proud of you, 'Mouche…"_

_Her expression changed immediately, her eyes growing wide in surprise. She blinked rapidly, "What?"_

_I nodded and smiled, "Yeah." Before she could push me away, which she probably wouldn't have, even if she could've, I gave her a quick kiss. To my surprise, she grabbed hold of the front of my shirt when I tried to pull back. Smirking, one eyebrow cocked teasingly, she asked, "What were you saying about calling it quits now…? Refresh my memory, won't you? Going to bed or something, was it?"_

_"Or something," I nodded seriously._

"_I like the sound of that," the smirk grew into a wide grin, and she pulled me even closer. _

"_So do I," I smiled back, tucking her head under my chin, glad that my Scaramouche was appeased. For tonight anyway. _


End file.
